The Favour
by Pimentogirl
Summary: Set circa season 9. The angels have fallen and Cas is working in a Gas n Sip under his alias, Steve. He's trying hard to make a success of his new life, but sometimes being human doesn't seem to make much sense. Who else is he going to call when he needs help to experience human traditions? Really, there is only one man he can ask... Dean.
1. The Question

The message was short. Dean listened to it again, the line was terrible, but it was definitely Cas. He could hear traffic in the background. " Hi Dean, it's ^~^~^~^. I was hoping ~^~^~^~ your help with ~^~^~^. I understand if you're too busy, but ~~^~^~^ only one I can ask. So…"

He could hear another voice in the background, "Steve, the grease drain's backing up again."

Cas' voice was muffled, as if he had his hand over the receiver, "OK, I'm just coming^~^~^~"

The gravelly voice returned to full strength as the line cleared, "~^^~^ gotta go Dean, but please, if you can, come before Saturday, after that, it will be too late."

Dean clicked his phone shut, and grabbed his keys. "Kevin," he called, "when Sammy gets back, tell him I gotta go see Cas."

Kevin appeared in the doorway, carrying a pile of books and papers. "A case?"

"I don't know," Dean said, "but it sounded urgent. I'll call from the road."

"Shouldn't you wait for Sam?"

Dean pursed his lips, waiting for a convincing excuse to leave Sam, and more importantly, Zeke, in the bunker to form in his mind. "Nah, it didn't sound so bad, and even on lock down I don't like leaving you here alone with Crowley."

Kevin shrugged, already partially engrossed in his papers.

* * *

It was late when Dean guided the shining black Impala to a halt under the street lamps. He glanced across the road to the Gas n Sip. The neon open sign reflected in damp puddles on the black asphalt and a steady drizzle of rain smelt damp in the air, as Dean slammed the door behind him, and made his way towards the entrance.

The inside smelt of coffee and disinfectant. Hot dogs turned on the automated grill, rolling steadily over the metal, sizzling faintly. The only other sound was his own feet tapping quietly on the white tiled floor. There was no sign of anyone at the tills. Dean paused listening hard, he heard the vaguest hint of human conversation from somewhere out past the counter, where the bathroom was. He grinned at the memory of Cas' insistence that he clean it, last time he was here. He began to move stealthily towards the back of the counter, hand flexing ready to grab the blade in his waistband.

It was only as he got closer that he realised that the 'conversation' he could hear was actually hot and heavy. "So, yes, oh yes… so you're dumping Chloe…hmmm, oh there…" the girl's voice was soft, her words interrupted by moans and the sounds of kissing.

"I promise," the boy's voice was equally breathy, "Ahhh, as soon as we get past Valentines…she's ahhhh history…"

Dean smirked and moistened his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hello, service," he shouted loudly, enjoying the panic this had caused judging by the sudden scuffling he could hear. A teenage girl appeared somewhat rapidly tucking her shirt back into the neat skirt under her blue vest.

"Can I help," she said, blushing.

"I was looking for Steve," he said, eyes crinkling into a half smile. "I'm a … friend of his."

"It's his night off," she whined a little sulkily, obviously resentful that she was here at all. Dean held the silence looking at her expectantly, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head in question. She sighed exaggeratedly, "He'll be at home, he never goes anywhere, he just wastes his time off." The teenage derision of the dullness of an adult's life was live in her whiny voice.

"Thanks," he said a touch sarcastically, "Might wanna re-button your blouse, using all the buttons this time."

* * *

Dean sang softly to himself as he drove through the quiet town streets. Tapping the wheel gently in time to the golden oldies on the local radio station. "Cupid, draw back your bo-ow…and let your arrows go-o…straight to my lover's heart for me-e-e-e." He ducked his head, looking for Cas' place. The houses were old and run down, he grimaced slightly, the guilt of forcing Cas out of the bunker playing on his mind.

He parked baby, and pushed open the rickety gate, strolling up the path. It was the only garden in the street, which looked even vaguely cared for. The grass was cut, and the path swept. A slither of silvery light spilt between the curtains and fell in a gentle line across the grass.

He paused before he knocked, he could see Cas' dark head, hanging forward slightly. The flickering light of a television was throwing shadows across the curtains. He edged along the porch and strained to see further into the room. It appeared Cas was alone, and sleeping in front of the TV. Dean sighed, at the heart breaking, lonely, normality of it.

He knocked at the door, and waited patiently, the drizzle settling on his hair and shoulders in a fine mist.

The lock clicked, a chain rattled and then two bright blue eyes blinked at him, slightly blurry with sleep, through the screen door. Cas' face split into a broad welcoming grin, and the familiar voice said, "Hello Dean." He dropped his arm, and swung it back expansively, inviting Dean into his lounge. Dean took it in with a sweeping glance, it was threadbare but clean. The couch was sagged and old. A white washed table and chairs stood in the ancient kitchenette, the only other furniture was an ancient looking TV. Dean noticed with interest John Wayne's familiar gait and stance on the screen. He smiled appreciatively, Cas was watching Westerns.

"You called," He stated simply.

"Can I get you a beer?" the gravelly voice sounded tight as if Cas were nervous about something.

Dean swallowed and nodded. "That would be cool, Cas," he said softly. "Care to tell me what's up. Only you said it was urgent, but now I'm here it all seems remarkably quiet."

The fridge light silhouetted the slight figure as Cas passed him a beer, and took a large swig of the bottle he had opened for himself. His eyes darted about the room. Dean had not seen him look this anxious since they had been in the brothel the night before they trapped Raphael. He dropped down onto the sagging sofa, knees bunching awkwardly high until he allowed himself to sprawl.

"'Sup Cas," he said encouragingly, relaxing back into the cushions, long arm extending along the back.

"Er, well… Dean… you know when I said you'd make a great teacher…" Cas perched next to him on the remaining seat, turning slightly to face him.

"Yes, Cas,"

"Well, I… er… I … wanted to ask you a favour, but I'm not sure it's… erm…"

"Spit it out, Cas, I'd like to find out before the next apocalypse." Cas' brow wrinkled in confusion, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Dean snapped, "the favour, Cas, what's the favour?"

"Well, you know I told you my time with April was very… educational, well up until she tortured and killed me." Dean nodded, grimacing at the memory. "… and my date with Nora, well," Cas blushed at the memory, "it wasn't a date, as you know. And I wasn't a very good babysitter, either, not really…"

Dean let his head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired from driving and beginning to wonder where the hell this was going. He pulled his head back when Cas dried up. Cas was picking nervously at the bottle label, turning the bottle repeatedly in his hands. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Cas knew that look, it was a sure sign that Dean was getting impatient with him. He swallowed and blurted awkwardly, "I need a Valentine."

Dean's head dipped slightly in a double take as his hand dropped away. "Come again?"

Cas squared himself, and repeated more firmly, "I need a Valentine. It's a human tradition, and if I'm going to be properly human, I need to experience things, and I..."

"Cas, buddy, you called me all the way down here, so I could be your pimp?" Dean's voice was amused, in spite of his tiredness.

Cas closed his mouth abruptly, taking on board this slightly unwelcome idea, his head darting back slightly, eyes blinking rapidly, as he too recalled the fiasco in the brothel. "No," he said slowly, eyes darting back and forth trying to read Dean's expression. He continued quietly, "I was hoping you would… er… that you would…be… that you would…er…"

Dean swallowed, his face incredulous, as he began to understand what Cas was asking him to do. "You want me to be your Valentine?"

They stared at each other. Cas, looking suddenly anxious and very intent. Dean rolling his teeth over his lip, thinking. His soft tongue darting along the line of the plump lips as subconsciously he moistened them. "You do get the point of Valentine's, right Cas?"

Cas bit his lip, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he looked up at him shyly. "Yes, Dean..." The look in his eyes changed, and his breathing shortened slightly, his pupils dilating in the flickering light from the TV, as he held Dean's gaze, "…I do."


	2. The Date, Not The 'Date' Date

"I need a beer," Dean said a little too quickly.

Cas stared in puzzlement at the bottle in Dean's hand. "You have a …"

"No Cas. A beer. In a bar. We need a beer." Cas looked at him, with that infuriatingly earnest expression, when he was completely missing the point. "I get it. It's my fault, I've left you on your own, in this one horse town and you've gotten lonely. We need a boys night out, just the two of us, like old times."

Cas pursed his lips, "Old times?" he asked a little nervously, thinking again of the brothel, "I don't want to go to a…"

"A bar, Cas, we'll go to a bar, we'll drink some beer, eat, shoot some pool, talk. Good times."

"Just the two of us," Cas clarified, "A night out, just the two of us, to a bar. A social engagement." He smiled at Dean, "OK, I accept." Cas stood up ready to follow Dean to the ends of the Earth, let alone, a local bar.

"You'll see, Cas, it'll be fun." He stood suddenly and clapped a hand on Cas' shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

* * *

Davy winced slightly as he saw the couple come into the bar. This was the wrong place in town for these guys. The taller of the two looked as though he could handle himself, despite the Zoolander pout and male model looks, but his boyfriend, well he was just a walking target. A boyish face, the brightest beautiful blue eyes, crisp white shirt and slacks, and an air of innocent vulnerability that would draw trouble like free liquor in a wino camp. He certainly stood out amongst the flannel and plaid clad crowd in here.

Anywhere but at work, Davy would probably take a crack. But in here he was careful and kept himself to himself. He hid himself so deep in the closet he could smell the lamp oil in Narnia, just to keep his own teeth as much as anything. Yup, they had definitely picked the wrong end of town all right.

He smiled at them as they approached. Zoolander perched on a stool, oozing self-confidence. "Two beers," he said, pushing the stool next to him round, indicating his nervy friend to sit, with a motion that suggested he was used to being obeyed. 'Ah,' thought Davy, 'so that's how it is!'

He wiped along the bar with a practised hand and flipped out two coasters. He might have to wipe blood off the counter and occasionally pick teeth out from between the bottles at the end of the night, but he still took a pride in his job.

The Cutie-pie perched on his stool, shoulders slumped slightly. He'd be a good height if he didn't stoop. Davy began to wonder whether Zoolander was good for him, he looked so defeated. Then the upturned face blossomed into a shy smile of thanks, as Davy plonked the bottle down, the blue eyes bored into him and Davy felt the air rush into his lungs as his heart gave a little leap. Before he even realised what he was doing, he gave Cutie-pie a little wink.

Cutie-pie looked a little shocked, but after a short pause, winked back, exaggeratedly, while Zoolander glared at them both and sucked his beer through his teeth.

Davy pulled himself together and drew away along the bar, studiously polishing glasses, catching snippets of their conversation over the music pounding from the jukebox in the corner. He cast a wary eye over the remaining clientele, but they were all either drunk or involved in conversation. It was quiet for a Friday, but Davy was too long serving here to be fooled by that. Quiet in here, meant the trouble had just happened or was just about to.

"So, Cas, what'ya been up too, besides dosing coffee and hot dogs at the Gas'n'Sip?"

"It's Steve, remember," he glanced anxiously around the room, the voice deceptively deep and gravelly. 'Typical,' Davy thought, 'Arrogant jerk, doesn't even remember his date's name.' He filed away with interest, that the Gas'n'Sip had just become worth a visit.

He served a couple of other customers and began restocking the chiller. The sound of clinking bottles obscuring their conversation for a while.

"You look tired," Cute Steve was saying, as Davy returned to standing at the counter, "we should go and do this tomorrow night instead. Maybe I shouldn't have called, but I…"

Zoolander cut over him, "Nah," he swigged his beer and cast a sideways glance at Cute Steve, soft green eyes crinkling. He was incredibly handsome, but Davy found himself hating him. "Tomorrow night will be wall to wall couples, flowers, heart themed food, romantic music and chick flicks at the cinema. Friday is the best night of the week, everyone's letting their hair down, chilling after a hard working week. Besides, Friday, 13th, it is much more our kind of date!" He smirked, and chuckled, making out this was the funniest joke ever. 'Yup,' Davy thought, 'arrogant jerk.' Cute Steve definitely deserved better treatment than this.

"So, this is a date?" Cute Steve asked, sounding confused, the little furrows in his brow, were utterly adorable. Davy shook himself, this was getting ridiculous, he was developing quite a thing for Cute Steve.

"No, Cas. It's a date, but it's not a 'date' date." Cute Steve looked utterly lost and was about to speak when Zoolander's phone began to ring.

Who was this Cas? The ex-boyfriend? Or just a pet-name that Steve didn't like? It sure made him uncomfortable, every time the big jerk used it. He found himself glaring at Zoolander now and he dropped his eyes quickly, suddenly feeling the need to fold his glass cloth into neat squares. When he looked back up he realised Zoolander was waiting to catch his eye with two fingers raised, a few bucks balanced between them. He pointed down at the coasters, dropped the notes on the bar and unfolding the long bowed legs headed for the door, talking into his phone, "Yeah, Sammy, just grabbing a quiet drink…" How many men did this jerk need!

Steve watched him go, before returning his attention a little sadly to the bottle he was nursing in both hands. Davy sighed. "Fuck it," he murmured under his breath. It was a quiet night. Life's too short. He began metaphorically elbowing his way through the fur coats in his safe little closet and reached under the bar for a bottle of tequila.

* * *

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror. Sam and Kevin were finally making some progress, albeit limited but Sam sounded quite upbeat. He asked after Cas, still puzzled why he wasn't staying with them, Dean imagined them in the quiet, safe, comfort of the bunker, contrasting it in his mind with that wood-clad little house, with its faded lino floor and battered old furnishings. No matter how carefully Cas kept it, it was still little more than a hovel.

He washed his hands, wishing he could wash away the guilt along with the stinky liquid soap. Poor Cas, if he didn't need Zeke to heal Sam he would whisk him back there in a heartbeat. Cas was adapting and, as he had told him only a few short weeks ago, he was so proud of him. But he was beginning to realise that Cas was just existing and he should do so much more than that, be more than that. No wonder he had come up with such a crap excuse to get him to visit. That bright beaming smile as he arrived, transfigured in his mind's eye to the look of adoration in the blue eyes, as Cas' words echoed through his head. 'Yes, Dean, I do.' Cas voice had been softer, husky even.

"Dammit," he'd been so lost in his thoughts, he'd managed to jam the faucet on and soaked his jeans and shirt.

He was still dabbing himself with paper towels as he re-entered the bar. The sound of laughter and animated conversation drew his head back up: He froze on the spot.

Cas was leaning across the bar, dark head inches from the barman, laughing heartily.

Dean had seen Cas smile often...usually at him.

He had seen Cas grin; sometimes completely inappropriately as he sought Dean's approval for some weird little idea, sometimes ruefully when he was the butt of one of Dean's jokes.

He'd even heard him chuckle a couple of times when he finally understood the joke, but...

...he had never seen him laugh like this.

And yet, here was this complete stranger lavished with Cas' full attention, rocking his world.

He looked on, as the bartender poured another shot into a glass on the bar, noticing for the first time the stack of neatly chopped lemon quarters and six or seven discarded husks of rind. How long had he been in the bathroom? Slammers?!

Cas shoulders shuddered under the thin cotton of his shirt, muscles rippling as he spat the lemon on the counter, the barman had his fingers closed loosely around Cas' hand, sprinkling salt on the soft white flesh of his upturned wrist. Dean was mesmerised, Cas' head dipped to lick the salt and then he knocked back the tequila.

* * *

"Having fun, Cas?" Zoolander's face was smiling, but his jaw was twitching slightly and as his eyes lifted Davy shivered slightly at the coolness in the gaze. He was instantly wary, but Steve looked from one to the other, his face beaming.

"Dean, this is Davy, he's a genius," he wobbled slightly on his stool as he swung his hand up to pat Davy's arm. "Two more slammers, Davy, por favour," he giggled at his own little joke and patted Zoolander's stool. "You're right, Dean, Friday night is the best!"

For his part and realising what the sudden sick feeling in his stomach and the tension in his jaw was all about, Dean was suddenly no longer so sure that this was true…


	3. Valentine's Day

Cas opened his eyes slowly and groaned.

He hadn't felt like this since he had found and drunk the liquor store many years before. He winced and tried to unstick his furry tongue from the roof of his mouth. He needed water. He rolled over slowly, untangling himself from the quilt and pressed his aching head back into the soft down of his pillow.

Something red caught his eye on the nightstand. He blinked and peered at it cautiously. Propped against a glass full of water was an envelope. He squinted against the brightness of the colour. His name was scrawled across it. Inside was a simple piece of card and three small white pills. He swallowed them, and drank greedily, before looking at the piece of card on his lap as if it might explode. It was cut roughly in the shape of a heart and marked with a single question mark.

He turned it over and over in his hands, but there was nothing else, just a question mark on one side. Grimacing as a drum tattoo beat inside his head, he lay back down, staring at the ceiling. He swallowed hard, feeling at once sick and hungry, human bodies were distinctly odd that way, he thought.

He remembered talking to Davy, and the curious little drinking game, he remembered laughing, although he could not remember what at, the last thing he was sure of, was the curious look on Dean's face as he came back into the bar and his insistence after only a couple more 'slammers' that they should leave. His tender brain nagged at him, and he closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep.

* * *

The town didn't look so bad in the bright morning sunshine. Families were walking down the sidewalks, bustling into shops on Saturday morning errands. The early spring sunshine was warm on Dean's arm as it rested on the open window, steering one handed. The Impala's finely tuned engine purred under the low black hood, which glinted and gleamed. Dean glanced at the brown paper bags on the seat next to him. The local radio station was doing its best to hammer home the date, but this time, Dean was in no mood to croon along.

… I heard it through the grapevine, how much longer would you be mine… He switched it off irritably.

He snuck quietly back into the little house, the blanket was still on the surprising comfy couch where he had left it, and the only sound was the gentle snoring behind the bedroom door. He put his purchases down on the table, and threw back the curtains, dust motes, sparkling and glittering in the sudden eddies.

He folded the blanket neatly, and removed his jacket, before strolling back into the kitchenette and rustling through the bags.

* * *

When Cas woke again, he could hear someone humming. He crawled from his bed, waiting for the spinning world to settle back down. He dropped his bare feet to the floor boards, and shuffled to the door, discarding his crumpled shirt, he reached for his only t-shirt and pulled it on. The door knob was reassuringly cold in his hand, and he opened the door, squinting in the sudden brightness, his brain screaming its protest at the searing brilliance of the sunlight.

"Morning Sunshine," Dean smiled. "How are you hanging?"

"I'm 'hanging' quite intensely," he said grumpily, for once understanding the reference. Normally he would have felt a certain amount of pride.

Dean chuckled and pushed him gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Go and shower. You reek. I'll make you a coffee."

Cas shuffled into the bathroom, eyes barely open, too fragile to protest. Cas loved showers, and he relaxed under the stream of hot water. Returning to the kitchen damp, but with his eyes open. He blinked.

There was a table cloth.

There were pancakes, and waffles, and eggs, and bacon.

He clutched the back of the chair feeling vaguely woozy, there was even a vase of flowers.

Dean was leant against the counter, arms crossed, looking slightly shifty.

Cas gazed at him questioningly.

Dean shrugged awkwardly, "What? I cook."

Cas raised his eyebrows.

"When there's a kitchen, I cook," Dean said defensively. "You liked my burritos."

Cas shrugged and sat, suddenly feeling quite hungry. He pulled the pancakes closer. "They're heart-shaped!" he blurted. "Dean, you made them heart-shaped?"

"You wanted to experience a Valentine," Dean growled as he poured fresh coffee into Cas' mug. "This is what Valentine's Day should be like."

"The card? That's a Valentines' Card? You made it?"

Dean glowered at him. "I needed an envelope for the aspirin," he said grudgingly, "you can't take a whole bottle anymore."

Cas looked up at him, the same infuriatingly innocent look he always gave at times like this. "I thought you said Friday nights were better than Valentine's Day. I thought it was all flowers and heart themed dinners… " he stared at the table at the vase and his pancakes, his mind catching up, "…and wall to wall couples," he finished quietly.

He looked up and realised that Dean was blushing. He opened his mouth to speak, thought, closed it and then opened it again, "you said…"

"Dammit, Cas, shut up and eat your breakfast, or so help me, I'll cancel the movie and the table reservation."

Cas smirked, hugging his coffee mug. Dean caught the mischievous look in the deep blue eyes and swiftly turned his back, so Cas could not see the little smile that spread across his own face. He reached forward and turned on the ancient radio set stood on the side…. Cupid…please hear my cryyy-yyyy…and let your arrow flyyy-yyy… straight to my lover's heart for meee-eee-eee.


	4. Lazy, Sunny, Sunday Morning

He woke slowly, aware of warm breath ghosting the crook of his neck and shoulder. Sunlight warmed his face, shining red through his closed eyelids. He opened them and blinked in the brilliant sunlight streaming through slatted blinds across the soft cream linen of the bed clothes.

He shifted slightly under the weight of a warm body against one side of his torso. The memory of Valentine's night flickered through his mind. The light Italian meal with far too much wine, a gift from the restaurant for being the best-looking couple in the place and then buying the soda and snacks at the movie theatre. Seeing Cas staring longingly at the themed soda cups and handing over the extra $5, mouth twitching with amusement at the simple pleasure Cas took as he went almost cross-eyed watching his soda flick around the heart shaped kink in the straw. Flushing red himself when he realised he was reacting to the sight of Cas, innocently hollowing his cheeks sucking on the tip of the straw. Covering it by flicking popcorn at him as they waited for the rom-com they had picked to start.

Good-naturedly bickering over the last spec of salsa, until he generously scooped it up on the last nacho and fed it to Cas, shivering as his lips brushed against his fingertips, swallowing his own reaction awkwardly by slurping his soda and accidentally making himself choke, til Cas patted his back, blue eyes wide in alarm.

A couple of beers in the bar next to the theatre had stretched into a couple of chasers. Cas sleeping on his shoulder for the cab ride back, leaning heavily on him as they walked up the path to the little house. Struggling to find the house key in Cas' jean pocket all the while trying to ignore the warm breath on his ear.

A chaste peck on the cheek at the bedroom door, as he ushered Cas to bed. And then, all those moments surged together and suddenly it was no longer enough, his hands developing a will of their own tangling into the soft dark hair, as Cas lazily held himself upright by gripping his shirt at the shoulder and hip. And then the kiss was deepening and they were falling drunkenly into the bed. Lips barely breaking contact as they stripped each other's clothes and slotted together in just their shorts. Then his memory failed him... had they... had he fallen asleep... had they... hazy memories of Cas moaning his name... had he...

What had he done!

This was Cas. Had he taken advantage of his best friend?

Cas had wanted to experience a romantic Valentine, he didn't know any better, not really, he hadn't been human long.

But Dean knew better.

He ran his free hand through his hair, a momentary panic surging cold in his veins. Then the dark head moved and soft hair tickled his cheek, a thick solid thigh slid higher up over his own leg. With a soft murmur of contentment, the arm under his shoulder pulled him tighter, as Cas nuzzled his neck, just below his ear, pressing his body against him as if he couldn't get close enough. And then he knew. It didn't matter what they had done, just why they had done it and because of that 'why', he knew exactly what he was going to do next.

With a soft smile he flexed his fingers into the short hair on top of his head, allowed his neck to relax and his head to fall back into the soft down of the pillow, with a twitch of his lips. When OctoCas awoke, he would teach him about another human tradition. Lazy, sunny Sunday mornings in bed with the one you love.


End file.
